Changing Fate: The Death of Reality
by BlessedSiochan
Summary: Eragon Shadeslayer learns just what happens when you toy with fate: you unleash secrets never meant to be known and awaken knowledge better off long buried. The problem is, he and Saphira may never have met and the course of history is under threat of being altered... (being continued after two year hiatus!)
1. Prologue

**_Kvetha_**

**Welcome to my rewrite of the story Losna Wyrda! that I had written several years ago nearly right after I finished reading the book Brisinger. It will be following a similar plot but it will be better written, as you can see if you read the original. The plot will hopefully flow better without all the jumping around I was cursed with. I pray I will not lose you!**

**This story takes place around the time of the final battle against Galbatorix in Inheritance. It plays with the idea that rather than Eragon defeating the king, it is flipped on its head. He fails, and with him the Varden begins to fall. At this time you do not have to have read the final book to understand. As you know, I had written the previous _before_ this one. Thus, not until later will spoilers jump out at you. I have taken liberties, of course, so I hope you enjoy my take on the world of Alagaësia. **

**Flames do not belong here so enjoy! OF COURSE IT ISN'T ACCURATE! If I make any silly mistakes like spelled someone's names wrong, you can say. OOC? Just _deal_ with it!**

**Much love and enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

**Now it Begins**

_Never once could I have understood the entire extent of faith... And yet, it is by a dream that all is fulfilled._

He could never have known such pain born from the intersection of both mind and physical body. No normal human being could begin to understand what pain could truly be. What it was like to feel it coursing through your veins like millions of tiny shards of glass that were thrust through the system with each irregular, forceful beat of the heart. It pounded in his ears as he lay upon a cold surface, the chill seeming to seep into his pores and to his very bones. Pain was more than a feeling; it was a state of mind. To have it placed in your mind and so cruelly lacerated upon your body is to know what pain is. Pain is to be thrust upon the teetering edge of death but not allowed to fall into it. But, what was the cost, what could be the reason why such a cruel punishment could be poured over his body? Why would the shards of real pain flood through his body, flesh burned to rotting and torn with the sharp claw of the blade? There was none, no humane meaning but a pitiless game, merciless and sadistic purely to gloat upon victory. Yes, the pain was not just his own, but a combination of his other consciousness and his own. He was tortured with the knowledge that his pain pained the other and knowing that the pain he felt was not just his own.

"Now, Eragon _Shadeslayer_…" came the murmur, a distant echoing in his mind as it fluttered across his flickering wakefulness. "How does it feel? Knowing everything, every struggle, was in vain? And over a silly dream you new very well had no meaning at all." The man who lay uselessly on the floor allowed his eyes to flicker open, bare chest exposed by a missing breastplate rising and falling raggedly with the exertion of having to muster the energy to even breathe. His eyes rolled closed again, falling with the movement of his head to the side. His wrists and ankles were chained down though not with physical bonds, covered with the memory of a struggle he once found himself in. Now the abrasions stung dully while being caked with blood both old and new. His lips were parched and tongue stuck to his pallet. He wanted nothing but rest… even if that meant the sweet relief of death. But, could he die? Could he truly give up the life so many had fought to give to him? His jaw worked uselessly, giving the one above him some satisfaction.

"Such a sad child," the voice sighed smoothly, masculine though the deep shadows did not show his face. The flickering torches lined methodically on the vast walls of the room casting dancing shadows across his face, only revealing to him eyes darker than the abyss. "Wouldn't it would be kind to let you die?" His hand that rested at his side lifted slowly. The chained man weakly gasped, gagging against the invisible force that slide past his mouth. Saliva escaped down his jaw as his throat muscles clenched, causing him to cough and choke, retching in vain. He didn't even have the strength anymore to muster up a counter spell. That was what drained him first. And quickly. "This is the end and _all_ has fallen into my hands. Because of your failure… your failure to be a worthy opponent. At least a considerable one."

A beat.

"This pitiful struggle is over. In fact, it never really began."

_Was it?_ The dragon rider helplessly wilted back as the pressure receded, trailing the bloody saliva over his lips. His breath now gurgled with the fresh blood in his mouth and throat. _Is it?_ The black king examined the bloody dragon rider as he heaved for his breaths before turning his head away by his attention stolen elsewhere. Each time his chest rose and fell, it revealed the deep system of lashes across it, ribs showing cleanly. It was excessive, and that was the entire point. From the greatest of men to the living dead. Now drugged, he couldn't even speak to the one whose pain he felt. The link was only strong enough for that.

And yet, neither could truly understand what happened next nor understand why it occurred at all. When all seems hopeless, even the most steady-minded can make the stupidest, most rash decisions. Drugged, he could not even recall the words of the language. _What language?_

His eyes fluttered beneath the lids restlessly, mouth open to allow him to breathe. The king, basking in his victory over his foe, did not fear the drug-induced Rider. He was bound, his mind fogged to the point he could not have the ability to cast a spell, let alone speak. He had no choice. He had no hope of surviving anymore. And, if he did, it would be even worse than death.

"_M-mm…"_

The king slowly lifted his head, watching him with his eyes uninterested. He could barely speak let alone say an intelligible word. Thus, he moved forward with a swirl of his robes and bent down to place his hand at his throat. There he slowly beginning to put pressure, right over his swollen trachea. His Adam's apple jerked convulsively as he began to suffocate, his body straining desperately against his binds. _Why would he kill him? _

She was screaming.

Eyes shooting open; his mouth stretched farther; lips splitting to cause blood to run down his chin and into his mouth. "_M-m…mo_…" he sputtered with his right hand straining upwards towards the face of his assailant. Unable to finish, he suddenly lost all control of his breath. Still, he kept pushing farther, his prisoner writhing as he struggled to find that lost breath. Spells could be cast without words. He couldn't… not as life began to fade.

"_Ono weohnata eldrvarya_!" the king cackled, thrusting hard, hearing with glee his neck snap.

_Moi wyrda._

* * *

><p><strong>Of course it's not very long, it's the prologue! It's getting you into the real story! I'm working on the next chapter now. Patience is a virtue. If you take a peek at the other story I will slaughter you.<strong>

**Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 1: The Forgotten Time

**Hey, you miss me? It's been a few months but if I get some reviews and followers (maybe even a few favs, oh love~) then I will be more willing to give you some updates, no? I just adore cliffhangers unless, of course, I'm the one who has to deal with them... My lovely "editor" says it is good so I hope you enjoy it as well. **

**Any ideas for the story or questions? Throw them at me! **

**Love ya all!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**The Forgotten Time**

_The dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them. For the past never leaves us… it is only that we chose to forget who we once were…_

There was once an elf that went by the name of Vatai, one who was an elder of his race and honored with great respect and reverence. And yet, he was one who slipped from the eye of the world, his sacrifice forgotten like the crash of a wave or a beautiful sunset that inspires awe before it fades and with it the memory of the one who beheld it. Though an elf, he was unremarkable in appearance in comparison to his people. His hair was silver, long and always free. His face was an expressive one of icy blue eyes and pale skin. His features were soft but defined with a long nose and defined cheeks. With a long face and tall, lean body, the old elf looked very little like a warrior to be feared and respected, least of all able to lift a sword and be formidable. And yet, this unassuming figure held a secret long forgotten to time and one that held the answers to questions that no longer were put into words.

Vatai lived long before the time of the Black King Galbatorix and the Varden. If one were to speak of such things, they would be unknown to him, an alien concept that would not just confuse him but infuriate one who, if asked, truly did know the Rider known as Galbatorix. His relation to such an infamous figure was well-known in his time. The long forgotten one, the elf, opened his eyes, turning his head to the sound of the rumbling earth rolling beneath his body. It was difficult not to see him, one who towered even above the golden dragon Glaedr in the time of the Varden yet not as large as the magically-touched Shruikan. His scales glistened like prisms, reflecting the light with their pale gray hue. His eyes were like granite, so large each one was larger than the elf's torso. And yet, as his wings folded and the earth beneath him settled once more; he bent down his massive head near the elf who stood near to an ancient oak.

_My lord, if it please thee, hear my words and do not shut your mind from me any longer._

His voice was deep, gravely like rolling boulders. It was true that he had been ignoring his dragon. His mind was touched to his unobtrusively to discern the welfare of one who fled from the mount of the Riders to find seclusion within the deep forest surrounding it. It was little like his home within the wood of Du Weldenvarden but compared to the strongholds of man, it was refreshing. Even so, it concerned the great dragon, his head swiveling to regard him with one, large eye. _You displease them with your conduct. You are needed and hiding from the eyes of the world does nothing. You should know this._

"Spare me," came the response at last, his head lifting and eyes piercing as he returned the gaze. The behemoth did not even move a muscle, unperturbed by a gaze that would unnerve any who were unlucky enough to have to face it. Yet, he continued. "I do not make choices lightly, _skulblaka,_" the dragon bristled, "and these choices I make, every single one, is thought through. Especially one as this. I have not been here long. I am not needed. If my lord wishes for my presence, I will come. You cannot give me such a command and thus I have no need to rush."

A growl erupted from his throat, one that made the elf's chest pound like a bass. He did not respond, however, rarely affronted by the biting words of the figure before him. It was not unheard of for him to be in such a mood but when it was directed at the one in front of him, it hinted at a deeper meaning than what was on the surface.

_What ails you, Vatai?_ he finally inquired, his voice softening now and revealing his concern after his irritation. This took him off guard, the elf looking at him with startled eyes. They had known each other for a long time and no one knew him better than this one. The bond they shared was one of a kind but not strange. Instead, he lifted his hand and removed his glove, placing the bare palm that bore his _gedwëy ignasia _upon the face of the great gray dragon.

"Do not let it trouble you, Ræned. When the time comes, it shall be made known…" Only then did the dragon realize what the trouble was, what caused the old Rider such pain. His eyes closed some, watching him through partially lidded eyes. _It is your son, is it not?_ Vatai tensed with his words, hand jerking back with pain growing on his face.

But, before he could respond, he swiveled around, head snapping back to gaze at the sky directly above them. There lay something that not even he could accurately describe. That it was magic was unmistakable but _what kind _was a whole other story.

But, looking back, what he saw that day could only be described as a tear in reality itself, a shimmering fold of light that rippled not through the sky but seemingly between the sky and the earth. The edges were smooth as glass and the shape of an eye. The glassy surface within rolled and moved like the restless sea and did not reflect the light of the sun but seemingly of its own source. On the other side nothing could be seen like a veil had been drawn across it. But, in his awe of the sight mingled with fear, his eyes were drawn immediately to the sight of _something_ breaking through the flawless surface. It took him a moment to realize that it was, in fact, _two _somethings. Only then did he realize just how large it was, how far up it actually seemed to be rather than how close it had once appeared. The first, he determined, wore the shape of a man or elf, so small anyone but the sharp eyes of an elf would have missed. A bit larger but the size of a speck on the horizon came the twisting figure of a dragon. Its body was unnaturally posed in a fall that could not have been formed of its own doing. Instead, it seemed to come to and twisted ungracefully in the air, struggling to catch the wind in its wings. But, they were falling, falling frighteningly fast. He knew they were falling, they grew larger and larger in size and details began to jump out at him. They were falling. No, the man - though could very well have been an elf - was unconscious and his dragon – which he pre_sumed_ was his dragon, struggling to catch him. However, by the time the dragon had awoken to find the danger they were in, it was far too close to the ground to catch the plummeting rider and pull to safety. There was nothing it could do, not even noticing in its plight those who watched.

Finally, the elf Vatai lifted his hand and shouted in the Ancient Language. It rolled off his tongue fluidly as he cast the spell, his dragon reinforcing it with his great reservoirs of energy. However, he winced and stumbled back, clutching at his heart a second later as Ræned roared. The spell was cut off as if it ran into an impenetrable wall. He was suddenly and utterly drained, his face white. His dragon was in a better condition considering Vatai had cut him off the instant it happened. He was helpless and alarmed, baffled at the wall that seemed to surround them. It could not have been the strange rip in the world that had vanished soon after they began to fall. Now, all Ræned could do was shield his rider with his body as the ground shook with the terrible impact so nearby, jolting him but not so much as moving the massive, gray dragon.

It was not something he had to think about, what he had to do. He had absolutely no energy but his dragon was already carefully allowing him to share in his energy. His wards were gone, ancient things he had never been without. He had never been as… vulnerable as this. This was a power more than he could ever understand. He felt it reflected in Ræned's own mind. Thus, he managed to his feet, even in his condition swiftly finding where they had crashed. His face twisted in some disgust and revulsion to see what was before him. He knew to expect something like this but they were alive. Both alive but… just barely. The crash harmed the dragon far more than its rider who was cradled in the lee of its body. It – who he now saw was a she – was in terrible condition. He feared for her survival. He was glad both were out, to an extent, because the pain they would feel would be terrible.

"Aid me," he told Ræned, moving over and placing his hand against the dragoness' side. "I may not be able to heal their injuries but I must prevent their death if it is all I can do." He was dubious, of course, but would not protest. Lending him his strength, they were startled to find this same barrier surrounding them, preventing any magic to be used for – and he presumed against – them. Was this their doing? How was it possible for the existence of such a… a _nothingness_? He only had one choice – he had to bring them to the nearby Rider stronghold of Edoc'sil. Alone it was impossible to take the fallen rider as well as his dragon, even with the strength of his own dragon, Ræned. He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to brush his hair from his face.

"It is time," he whispered, his voice low, "to _Agaetí Daumrs._ It is time I stop hiding and face them again." Ræned alone knew how difficult it was for him to once more appear at this annual moment singularly for those within the ranks of the Dragon Riders themselves. His head bowed.

_As it pleases you, my lord._

* * *

><p>Through the halls of the ancient citadel of Uru'baen came a young man shadowed by a crimson dragon of enormous size. Neither seemed worried about keeping their presences unknown even against the gathering armies outside that fought to take control of the city. No, he was healed of all wounds that had been inflicted upon him by that accursed illusion conjured by the power of the elves that now had managed to infiltrate the massive walls that surrounded the capital city. That was not something he would forgive easily, especially how it injured his pride. With his attention focused on a shadow beast and rider when it should have been after the one that appeared through the wards that the king had erected around the city. Not only that, they had managed to break through the gates and pass through without any harm to them. Not even he would have gotten around so easily the traps before the throne room. He must have been having a blast, the king. It was all just a big game to him.<p>

It was no surprise, however, since they had that demon child. His hand ran over his face, feeling perspiration there. He knew something was happening, just not exactly what. He had hoped, he had prayed that Eragon would win, deep in his mind where the king would not find… at least, not right away. It was the only way for her to be freed. There was no other way he could see. Not yet.

But, when he entered the throne room, he ducked his head, startled at the greeting he received. The clatter of the projectile that landed where his head had been made his heart pound just as much as the surprise had done. He should be over this by now. Thorn growled, head appearing through the door. It had been a long time since he had seen the king in this mood and he was suddenly desperate to be away from him and hide. But, he steeled himself and approached. He fell to his knees before him, hoping to placate him or at least not bring his rage upon him. He kept his head down, Thorn doing similarly before their liege lord. Whatever had angered the king was something big. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. _Where is Eragon?_

Thorn did not reply but even if he had an answer, he would not have been able to give it to him as Galbatorix stood, trembling with rage.

"Where have you been?" he demanded his voice surprisingly calm though it trembled. He was trying very hard to check himself while also desperate to cause him harm. He was the perfect subject to punish but he prayed in his head to any who would answer that Nasuada would not become the target instead. However, he was given his answer as his face was suddenly slammed into the hard ground and his nose broke. He winced as his head throbbed, tasting blood as he bit his tongue. Blood spilled on the ground and his head was jerked back again, trying to keep his face free from reaction. But, he felt a blow to his stomach that could be nothing but magic. He was surprised. When he was the angriest, he usually beat him with his own hands rather than using magic. What had happened?

He said something, he didn't catch what. But, he lifted his head, blinking. "My lord…?" he responded in a low voice past his split lip. But, he tightly gripped the hand that suddenly grabbed his throat and jerked him up, this one stronger than he appeared. He hadn't even seen the king approach him. "My lord king… I apologize…" However, he gagged for breath as he squeezed tighter; making him writhe against him for breath as Thorn panicked, tail twitching helplessly. The king's dragon watched.

"WHERE IS HE?" he shrieked, shaking him. "What have you done, you ungrateful, insolent bastard?" Murtagh choked, trying to speak but the grip did not loosen. Finally he was thrown to the ground and he rubbed his throat, coughing before he could breathe to speak. This time, he spoke in the ancient language to show he was being truthful.

"_I do not know what you speak of, my king. I have done nothing but serve you and your will… all you have commanded me, I have done…"_

Galbatorix frowned, face unreadable even then. Those few seconds of silence felt like an eternity as he held his breath, waiting for another beating, anything. What he would do next could be anything. The king was unpredictable. It was impossible to determine just went on within his mind, how it worked. All he knew was that he was utterly and completely mad. Smart, but insane all the same.

"Who is the most powerful of all in this land?" he said softly, his eyes on him. Murtagh went still, watching his king without a word. "Who has the power to stand against _me_?"

Murtagh lowered his head. "No one, my lord. None is more powerful than you." The king did not seem pleased with his answer. Instead, he wordlessly punched him in his face, causing his head to jerk to the side. His jaw tightened as he resisted the urge to make any noise. He wanted to make him angry. He was egging him on.

Or was he?

His eyes flew open when he felt something cold against his neck. Taking a few deep breaths, he forced himself to look at Galbatorix, the white sword Vrangr against his throat, the sword that had once belonged to Vrael himself. The next words that escaped his lips made Murtagh's face go pale.

* * *

><p>Nasuada stood quickly when the door of her cell clanged open to reveal a face she had grown accustomed to, one she knew so well. But this time, as so many other times, it was not a friendly visit. His face was grim and lips pressed into a thin line. Even imprisoned here she knew what was going on. The Varden had arrived and were attacking Uru'baen. She did not know if the elves had made it or not but she knew the dwarves and Surda would be with them. At least, she hoped so. After she was captured, she had no idea what had transpired within those ranks. They remained loyal to the Varden because of her so what if she was no longer there? Without them, any attack would be in vain. She hoped they would not face Uru'baen without a significant force... but none of them were so stupid as to do something of that magnitude and destroy everything worked for over nearly a hundred years. But, her heart dropped when <em>he<em> appeared during this time. He was supposed to be fighting, that meant something significant had happened... nothing good for her.

She tensed her shoulders to meet his unwavering gaze similarly. "Murtagh?"

"He lost," he said suddenly, flatly. "Eragon lost to the king but _they_ do not know yet." Nasuada froze before her hand covered her mouth and her eyes became round disks.

"But, how?" she managed in a low voice after a moment, her hand still over her mouth. She wouldn't let it faze her even if she felt suddenly very weak. Anyone could be watching. His eyes watched her flatly, emotionless. But he approached with steady strides and grabbed the hand that covered her mouth. She didn't prevent him though her spine was rigid and eyes alert. He drew it to himself and looked at her palm. She saw nothing out of the ordinary but he seemed to gaze at it with such intensity that she had no idea what he was thinking or planning to do. What was he looking at?

"The King… Galbatorix… Eragon was no match for him, in the end. There was nothing he could do, no matter how prepared he was, all that he attempted, he could not fight him with the power of the hearts behind him…" He paused, thumb running over the surface of her palm. She remained silent. When he did not speak further, she closed her hand around his and forced him to look her in her eyes. Her jaw had become set, eyes burning.

"Where is Eragon, Murtagh?" she demanded. "What happened to him and Saphira? Tell me he is at least still alive." Even if he would be forced against them, she couldn't wish him dead. Even if being dead would be better for them than him being alive in the hands of the King. But how could the king kill Eragon but not Saphira when he needed her? Murtagh looked down but she grabbed his face in her hands firmly and looked him in the eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest, unable to breathe as she saw the expression change in his eyes. She saw something there she never wanted to see. She pulled her hands back, both moving to cover her mouth.

"Gone," he responded. "Disappeared underneath the nose of the king. The instant he broke his neck to kill him, he utterly vanished along with Saphira. Wherever he sent himself in his desperation, he will be dead. There is nothing we can do about it." Without another word he turned and left, locking the door behind him. Nasuada collapsed and gave a broken wail.

* * *

><p><strong>Boom!<strong>

**Enjoy, my loves~ I shall see you all soon!**

**Updates ASAP if you give me love!**


End file.
